Morituri Te Salutant
by CloudyDream
Summary: May I come into your castle, My Lady? He would ask, and she would grant him permission more often than not; but still there were times she would refuse, and leave him out in the cold. Written for the goldenships: what if challenge; set in an AU where Oberyn Martell survives the duel, and Jaime Lannister goes to his own death with his sister's name on his lips.


**Morituri Te Salutant**

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Jaime's eyes looked for her the moment he enters the ground, seemingly blind to everything else. He ignores the noises of the crowd, or the bitter coldness of the Autumn wind; Cersei only mattered, her long blonde hair fluttering in the breeze, her green eyes reflecting the scarce light of this tempestuous day.

_I will die with your face before my eyes and your name on my lips,_ Jaime remembers telling her once, and despite everything that has happened since, now that the hour of his death has come he still cannot find a more comforting thought to send him to the grave.

Jaime has to raise his head to stare at her, so distant there in her seat, a beacon of golden light in this leaden morning. _May I come into your castle, My Lady?_ He would ask when they were children, kneeling on the green grass. She would frown her small brown in thought before answering. _You may, Ser_, she would answer more often than not; but still there were times she would refuse, and leave him out in the cold.

_May I come into your castle, sweet lady?_ Jaime would still tell her playfully when their games had become less innocent, and then he would have to persuade her in other ways, for Cersei never agreed at first if she could bargain later. And he would have to look up to smile at her even then, always look up, whether he was on his knees in a meadow playing or with his mouth between her legs in bed.

_Or on a dusty tournament field, waiting for the death you bought me, sweet sister_, but he could not resent her, not truly. If he did, if he forsaking in his last moments the woman who'd been the centre of his whole life since he'd been born… where would that leave him? _A life with no honor, and a life with no purpose as well_.

He was suddenly remembered of Brienne of Tarth, and her oath. _I hope you find her, Brienne. One of us deserves to find some peace, at the end_. And that would not be him, of that much Jaime was sure. Peace is not for Lannisters, even in death. He thought of Elia and Rhaegar and the dozens of ghost who must have been waiting for him for years, somewhere. Catelyn Stark, perhaps. Aerys as well, but Aerys he did not fear. _I did what I had to do_, he thought, and wasn't it a shame that no one would ever know it?

_Tyrion will, if he reads the letter_. If he did not tear it to pieces and burn it after reading of his peasant girl, if he could make sense of the childlike scratches he'd managed to get on the parchment with his left hand. _And Cersei who thought I could fight with it_. It had taken Jaime the better part of last night to write Tyrion's letter, and yet he wrote nothing to his twin. _I already told her all she needed to know, and she did not bother to listen_.

The herald screamed something Jaime could not make out behind the noise of his own blood rushing in his ears, but the meaning was clear, and he took his sword in his useless left hand. It was an unfamiliar blade he'd lifted from the armoury, after he'd given his father's pretentious Valyrian Steel sword to Brienne, feeling sick at the very thought of going to his death holding even a part of Ned Stark's sword in his hand.

_Ned Stark, who sympathized with the Dornish more than Robert ever liked_, and wasn't that an ironic thought? But then again, Jaime had done his fair share of sympathizing with Doran Martell himself once he'd entered Princess Elia's bedchamber, all those years ago.

_Are you watching, Elia?_ He thought, as he brought down his sword in a weak swing that even Tyrion could have avoided. The steel met the tempered wood of Oberyn Martell's spear and the Prince gave him a sardonic smile. _I know I am killing a defenceless man_, the smile said.

None of them had worn a helm that morning, Jaime thinking of how he wanted to die with the sun and the wind on his face, and knowing that his ineptitude would have given the Dornishman far easier targets than a head; and the Prince removing his own as soon as he'd seen Jaime uncovered head, knowing that he would win the duel even naked. _I am killing a defenseless man_, the smile said, _and yet it must be done_.

Jaime could see that, and agreed. I understand family easily enough.

He managed two more swings before Martell sent his sword to fly away with a precise blow of his own, an ample gesture of his arm that was almost lazy in his execution. There was a gasp in the crowd, or perhaps there wasn't, but Jaime did not pay attention. _They must all have seen that I was fighting like shit. They must have been expected that_.

It was only two heartbeats after that he found himself flat on the dirt, the pointed end of the spear on his neck and Elia's voice in his mind. _My brother is the living proof of the mercy of the gods_, Elia had told him once, as a jest, and now Jaime could only hope he'd prove himself merciful enough. Do snakes play wiith their food?

He idly wondered what would happen later, whether Oberyn would try to provoke his family or the Tyrells after today, and whether Cersei would be stupid enough to put him on trial again. _He would be more than happy to oblige_, Jaime thought, and then Brienne of Tarth was on his mind._ Call this one Oathkeeper_, he'd said, and then he found himself laughing for the irony of it.

Jaime tried to shift on the ground, turning is neck. _Where's Cersei?_ He could not find her. Had she gone inside, unable to bear the sight of his death? _Why, sweet sister, after you arranged it so well? Did not have the strength to send me off? You fancy yourself a man_, Jaime thought with another burst of laughter, or maybe he was coughing, _and men kill_.

"Well?" He felt his own lips part, his voice croak, dirt and dust in his mouth. _Send me to the Seven Hells, or Mother above_. To his ghosts. _I will die with your face before my eyes and your name on my lips,_ but he could not see Cersei anywhere and it wasn't her name he uttered.

He could have said a thousand different things. _Elia_, perhaps, if only to see the look on his opponent's face. _Brienne_, even. _Sansa Stark_. _Mother_. In the end, he said none of them.

"Make it quick," Jaime Lannister said instead, and then he was off to find Aerys in hell.

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**A/N**: This was my first time ever writing Jaime, and I hope I did him justice. Also, in case anyone's wondering, the title is Latin - it means 'those who are about to die salute you', and it's the ritual phrase Roman gladiators said to the emperor before fighting. Yup, big classical history geek over here - what can I say? I loved my Latin Lit class.


End file.
